Jenny Who?
by Mr.Mongoose256
Summary: Jenny and Lady Christina de Souza team up to battle and befriend aliens across time and space. I can't promise regular updates; all I can promise is that there is more to the story. It'll probably end up slashier and funnier later; we'll see.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All the characters, ideas, concepts, etc. originally belonging to the Dr. Who franchise still belong to them. The only purpose of this story is to feed the vicious things in my brain which whisper Jenny and Lady Christina de Souza should have had more screentime, and is not to make profit.

* * *

Jenny set a course for the most extensively developed planet within reasonable distance. She could slingshot the pod around planets and suns, but that didn't completely take away the issue of fuel. Still, the DNA humming inside her told her the universe was just teeming with natural miracles for the eye to behold—but there was something else you needed—humans, people, anything that ranked compassion and curiosity highly; those were what gave focus to and put a twinkle in that eye. People were a gateway to many things.

Mischief.

Mayhem.

Marathons.

But first, she needed transportation. Or fuel. Or money.

As the hatch opened and the blonde stepped out, she took her first breath of fresh air. The sunrise took it away. The imprints and her blood told her this was a trick of a thicker atmosphere, the curvature of the world and the properties of light. In fact, she could feel the turning of the world beneath her feet, sense it hurtling around the flaming ball of gas, grasp the insidiously slow speed with which it turned around the arm of the galaxy, and ride that galaxy in its expansive journey towards the ever receding edge of the universe… and if she let go…

But it was a really nifty trick of light, no matter what level of smog caused it. And there were many more tricks of light to be seen. So many more—so many worlds to see them on, creatures to watch them with, times to observe them in.

_Time._

That word grew in her head till she felt it resonate with her being, linking her to the flow of the vortex. Interesting. _That_ wasn't something they programmed into her mind. This was a girl who needed transportation so alternative the wrong breath could poke a hole in the universe. Looming in front of her was just the place to get it, too. A giant hexagonal building sported the words "Time Agency" above its doors. Forward, to her great, terrible, insane, and vaguely hilarious purpose.

* * *

The sepia toned floor tiles and blasé walls were anything but welcoming; they radiated control and uniformity. Nonetheless, Jenny approached the counter with a confident military stride. "I'm applying for a job."

The concierge looked up, startled by the woman's air of importance. "Yes, well, we're not precisely hiring at the moment, so it's a much more selective filter you'd have to pass through." The blonde smiled opportunistically (unsettlingly to the man at the desk) and stared, waiting for the opportunity to pass through said filter. He cleared his throat as though it would shake the world back to how it was supposed to be—without icily attractive military women staring you down for an interview—and opened up the comm. link, "Jonathan, there's a woman here in need of evaluation." He quickly returned his eyes to the computer where he supposedly spent all day arranging appointments.

A moderately tall, slight man swooped in from a hallway to the left, and Jenny turned around starting with her feet, then gracefully up to eye contact. "This way, miss." They speedily made their way to another barren room, due to their no nonsense policy on walking, and Jonathan pulled out a datapad. "First I'm going to ask you a few basic questions, then we'll move on to the interview," he droned with the practice that comes from turning away dozens of recruits. "Name?"

"Jenny." The man waited a beat too long. "Just Jenny, thanks."

This girl appeared quite insolent to a man who'd only read about communities small enough to need no last names thousands of years ago. "Birthplace?"

"Messaline." This was quite like providing your rank and regiment for your captors.

"Recent colony world… age?" He looked up intermittently, not displaying much more expression than the walls around him.

"Five standard days."

"Mmm." A slight raise of the eyebrows accompanied two taps of his stylus on the screen. "Parents?"

"Parent. Don't know his name."

"And yours?"

"Jenny." The blonde was now beginning to think the man was insolent.

"And your father did what?" It was a last ditch effort; if they ended up hiring the girl (hopefully not), they could look up the names of the people sent to colonize Geidei Sigma.

"Er…" She tried to remember Donna's description of the Doctor, and in the process found the ceiling was a much more interesting nebula of blue and orange than the walls would suggest. "Runs a lot, saves people, flies around in a box… I think he keeps the brakes on, mind you."

This time, the cool, administrative nature broke completely. He drew in a breath and didn't release it until there was more air than rushed speech in his voice. "If you'll wait a moment, I have to consult with my superior."

To Jonathan's shame and convenience, he bumped into said superior quite roughly. "Ma'am. About the blonde that just came in:" Here, it was assumed people were informed before it was assumed they didn't know most details of your life. "She's… Well she's—" Before he could continue stammering, Adelle Brooke swiftly commandeered the datapad.

Jonathan remained fidgeting and speechless.

"Lethal combat skills from the progeneration machine. Doctor's daughter, so we can assume some innate proficiency with the vortex." She looked up, and with the full force of her authority, uttered, "Hire her."

"But if she's a spy—"

"Ask her. Hire her anyway. We can't afford to pass up this opportunity. Put her on the rift that just opened in England. Not Cardiff, the one with the sand and the bus? Somewhere it'll be hard to create a galaxy-wide apocalypse if she meddles.

"Yes, ma'am." Jonathan, suddenly lacking in suave barely managed to compose himself before re-entering his interview room. In the process of taking his seat, he also took his sweet time to scoot back in.

"So, Miss Jenny… How much contact do you have with your father?"

* * *

An hour later, Jenny emerged from the building with a mission, a crude translator rigged from studying electromagnetic fields around the T.A.R.D.I.S., some clothes designed to blend in anywhen, and her very own vortex manipulator.

Her face became plastered with the most kind hearted, adventurous, and mischievous smile that anyone could muster—the kind of smile reserved for those few spirits with enough awe, power, and inspiration to traverse the universe just for fun. She pushed a few buttons on her wrist and whispered to herself.

"Earth, here I come."

* * *

A/N: I do have some chapters and ideas piled up, but sometimes things creep up in my life that take a year to sort out. Feedback is always welcome and sometimes gives inspiration and/or guilt, both of which make me write faster barring huge complications.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The first two chapters are mainly for exposition and to take care of potential plot-holes. I promise life won't be this simple for them in the future.

* * *

Lady Christina de Souza was a true Lady. She was prepared with witty repartee, sufficient tools, and just enough moxie to suit any situation. This aligned well enough with the expectations of the public in situations resembling dinner parties with high society. Things fell a little bit apart when flying double-decker busses and crime were introduced into the picture.

Of course, that just made life _fun_. With how much fun she chased, the brunette rarely followed anyone's expectations. The Interpol officer she was gliding away from made a good example. She'd never been in a situation like this before, but suspicion told her having alien technology and knowledge would eventually get them taken off her case. UNIT and Torchwood had to keep these sorts of things quiet. Laying low wasn't an exciting choice, but Christina was willing to wait for that aspect of her life to come around again. At least she got the adventure of picking up some supplies, first.

Knowing the day would come when she had to break into her own house, the Lady had planned for today with skylights, secret passages, and anything else that inexplicably worked to the advantage of criminals in those ridiculous movies. She just never expected to have a giant floating anchor for when she entered the skylight closest to her main storage area. Interpol was focused on the ground and any signs of noisy aircraft, so she could assume the interior would be fairly sparsely guarded. Still, she readied some chloroform. Once inside, she unbuckled her harness and started to slink around the walls and corners. It was much more of a challenge to sneak when dressed for night crimes in a well lit area.

Christina crept to the junction near the door she needed incident free, then caught her breath. There _was_ a police presence inside her house. Thinking on her feet, she tossed a ring at the corner next to her. This guard had obviously seen a few movies, because after seeing what clattered to the ground was a harmless piece of metal, he investigated the opposite corner. Too easy. A hand wielding a cloth inched toward the man's mouth; the inching became a grip, the grip became a vice, and the man became unconscious.

She picked up his gun (guns weren't her style, but Christina was such an advocate of practicality over ideals that she became an idealist in _always _making the decision to compromise her identity for a day rather than suffer a decreased chance of survival). Proceeding to rob him of his identification, communication, and recover her ring, she practically scurried into the safe room.

Caring more about time wasted now than later, the black-clad brunette shoved items haphazardly into her pack. She had no apparent regard for organization, only for what would be harder to purchase on the lamb. Glass cutters, bolt cutters, drugs, a small crossbow, forged passports, more carbon-fiber rope, and an extensive set of lock picks found their way into the bag. As for money, a small stack of bills and a dainty yet somewhat hefty bag of precious gems could hold her over for a year.

* * *

When her fellow bus passengers thought she carried everything in her backpack, they were incredibly wrong. She'd left behind dozens of trophies Interpol would happily collect, all her blueprints and other "research materials," a fully furnished home and a fully stocked kitchen. Pointedly, her stomach grumbled. The plan was to take the bus over rarely frequented international waters, then acquire smaller amenities. It was a decent enough plan for now, but several faults needed to be taken care of. Running water, hot food, and a bed, for instance. Her line of thought was completely interrupted by the whoosh of air displacement by one of the wheels. The tires were already flat, so the comforting explanation was completely ridiculous.

The Time Agency may have given Jenny an algorithm to hone in on alien technology, but as she found herself appearing in mid-air next to a large hunk of metal she barely recognized as a bus, it became painfully clear that things were not always well thought out. Imprints of lighting fast instincts from the progeneration machine and the adaptability of those that came from her timelord DNA… those were hardly sufficient to get one hand desperately clutching to rubber before the rest of her body got accelerated at the earth standard of 9.8 meters per second per second. Worse, the wheel was starting to creak in a sinister way as if it planned on rotating.

Deciding she'd rather not race gravity at reprogramming the vortex manipulator, Jenny let out a strained shout followed by an awkward, "Uhh… Hello?"

Christina had already done what she knew to put the bus in a three dimensional version of "parked" and peeked out the window. She couldn't help laughing a little. This was clearly not a person in a position of strength, but curiosity and practicality both voted the blonde be saved… then perhaps incapacitated and questioned.

The Lady pulled tight two overhand knots on a length of cord, leaving a loop at either end. She fastened one to the driver's seat and lowered the other to the mysterious woman hanging off her vehicle. That would ensure she remained secure long enough to prepare a proper winch-powered rescue. For her part, Jenny was reveling in the confusion and adrenaline. She'd have to watch that. She knew she was programmed with the knowledge of how to fight and how to die, but images of Donna and Martha flooded her head. They knew where to stop, unlike the leader she was literally born to follow, who shot at her father, and she, who dove in front of the bullet.

With a bit of effort and a few scrapes, Jenny was in the bus: a welcome sight. Her next sight was an imposingly composed woman pointing some old fashioned weapon at the blonde. "Who the hell are you?"

Not so welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Jenny continued sizing up the brunette before she gave an answer. "Jenny," she stated simply. There wasn't much more to know at this point; she'd been alive less than a week.

Her name was Jenny. That was all well and good, but it spoke nothing of why she was here. When someone appears out of nowhere at the edge of your flying vehicle, the first question that pops into your head isn't usually "What's your name?" Christina took in air somewhat greedily (your first reaction isn't to breathe, either) and adjusted the crossbow so her arm wasn't as strained. "Alright… who do you work for? How'd you get out there? _Why_ are you _here_?"

No matter how pre-developed Jenny's brain was, loyalty and purpose weren't things people just _knew_. They may have been a few days ago, but that's what growing up is all about: unlearning things. She'd accepted the position as a time agent without question, sure. Travelling was the obvious option with no home. The dog tags pressing at her neckline reminded her she hadn't officially left service on Messaline, while the band around her wrist told her she was a time agent. But what exactly was she supposed to do, even given that she was working for the Agency? Confiscate everything on the bus and return for another short assignment where she would be gone before she got to interact with—really, truly touch—anything? Write a report on how the technology was being used and who was involved in the incident? That was incredibly trivial compared to all of time and space.

Lady de Souza cleared an empty throat, and shifted uncomfortably under the stare of the other woman. At the same time, she managed to raise her eyebrows in somewhat of a challenge. "That wasn't supposed to be a stumper."

The blonde started simple. "I got here with this," she flashed the vortex manipulator, "My employment is… questionable. And I think I'm here for…fun?" That seemed about right. She was relatively sure it resembled what her father would have done. "I'm here for fun." The people supposedly in charge of her weren't here now; she was; the universe was. Just five days in, she'd already hit her rebellious teenager stage. Ironically, it was exactly what her father _would_ want. And just like him, she'd keep running and never look back.

Something softened in the brunette. Questionable employment may have been something a mercenary would say, but they certainly wouldn't say it like that. The sole motivation of fun, well, that could only remind her of one extraordinary person: The Doctor. She lowered (but did not discard) the weapon, sat down in the back of the bus, and motioned for this "Jenny" to follow.

A part of the blonde softened as well. Whoever this woman was, she wasn't a soldier. Jenny didn't have many personality profiles cluttering her head: The Doctor, Donna, a little bit of Martha, Jonathan, the concierge at the Time Agency, and soldiers. She'd soon add this woman to the meager list, but the fact that she'd found her flying in a double-decker bus augmented with alien technology above the sea was already a point in her favor. The fact that she was willing to lower the weapon and seemed more intrigued than threatening gave Jenny the feeling she'd found a kindred spirit.

Christina changed her manner of questioning from interrogation to blind date. "So what _is_ that thing on your wrist?"

"It's a vortex manipulator." Seeing the look of confusion on the woman's face, she rattled off the textbook definition given to her, "It allows the wearer and small items in immediate contact with said wearer to slip through the fabric of time and space." The Doctor's Daughter recognized that the rules of the conversation had changed. "Who are _you_, and why are _you_ here?"

"Lady Christina de Souza. Regrettably, my house is no longer…habitable," Never in her wildest dreams did she expect her life of crime to lead her here, but it felt like she was moving toward her place in the grand scheme of things rather than away from home. "And this seemed like the next logical step." Maybe it wasn't so regrettable.

Jenny was still mostly business in her questioning. She had so many basic things to learn about the time here that a few words seemed to expose a world at a time. "Step toward what?"

Christina let a smile spread across her face. The inherent truth of that smile could not be debated. If she didn't get to go with the Doctor for whatever reason, this didn't make a close second; this tied for first. "I think that all depends on your policy regarding hitchhikers."

They found themselves in a bizarre game of questions. Soon enough, it came out that Jenny was 5 days old, Christina was on the run from the law (and the Time Agency), the blonde was on the run from anyone who would stop her exploring, the brunette had seen more than enough of the current world, and both of them craved adventure.

Not so curiously, they avoided mentioning any connection to the Doctor. Christina assumed the Time agency might be after him, and Jenny assumed Christina had a prejudice towards aliens; the briefing did tell her a thing or two about the circumstances past the rift. Even if Jenny was partially human because of the process used to prevent inbreeding related mutations, she wouldn't be human enough for someone with more fear than familiarity in their heart.

* * *

A/N: Wheee inspiration wave! Unfortunately I haven't watched these two on screen for a while now, and I need to remedy that before I write them completely wrong.

Right now my working model for Jenny is a soldier with the race consciousness of the Timelords and the undeniable knowledge that the world gets better by people believing it is better (kinda like 9 before he met Rose). I also kinda consider her the complement of the DoctorDonna; she doesn't have all of the Doctor's accumulated knowledge born into her, but she does have the room for it in her head. My working model for Christina is criminal who does things for the challenge which has been suddenly touched by the idea that doing good can be as much of a challenge. I don't have any speech habits in my head atm, so dialogue is still a little uncomfortable to write. That's why I cut this one a little short.

_If any of you lovely readers have headcannons you'd like to see_, it might help me to incorporate them; just _drop me a note_.

_The next update_ will only come after I've studied them a bit more; it _will also mark the start of their adventures through time_, so it'll be… longer. And loaded with mainly true and fully interesting history.

I can personally guarantee that whoever you are, I'm more excited than you.


End file.
